


Lex Talionis

by faithinthepoor



Series: Desperate Housewives [21]
Category: Desperate Housewives
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 19:38:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1953624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithinthepoor/pseuds/faithinthepoor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set following That’s Good, That’s Bad</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lex Talionis

**Author's Note:**

> Follows [Unseemly](http://archiveofourown.org/works/668467), [The Theory of Everything](http://archiveofourown.org/users/faithinthepoor), [Here There Be Dragons](http://archiveofourown.org/works/673221), [Somnambulist](http://archiveofourown.org/works/673229), [Wishin’ and Hopin’](http://archiveofourown.org/works/673233), [Nosology](http://archiveofourown.org/works/673238), [Boundary Violations](http://archiveofourown.org/works/673240), [Fractals](http://archiveofourown.org/works/673250), [Windmill Tilting](http://archiveofourown.org/works/673255), [Ambitendency](http://archiveofourown.org/works/673262), [Heisenberg Territory](http://archiveofourown.org/works/673272), [The Illusions of Prisms](http://archiveofourown.org/works/673700), [Keratitis Sicca](http://archiveofourown.org/works/682311), [Schrödinger’s Realm](http://archiveofourown.org/works/682327), [Chiaroscuro](http://archiveofourown.org/works/682358), [Altered Trajectories](http://archiveofourown.org/works/682370), [Elegiacs](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1952136), [Tachyphylaxis](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1952244), [Verismo](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1953516) and [Forced Perspective](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1953594)

She couldn’t claim that she was happy, things were still far from perfect, but at least it had reached a stage where most of her major problems could be covered by a coating of respectability, it’s amazing the latitude that you are suddenly granted once you become a widow. The first time Andrew was sent away, people judged her, they may not have said anything but with every stilted conversation and surreptitious glance she knew that they felt that she lacked compassion and that any problems that Andrew might have had were due to poor parenting. She was sure that they relished discovering a chink in her armour of perfection. They probably marked the day for posterity and will celebrate its anniversary in some sort of distasteful manner like mocking her orderliness while they de-alphabetise their book shelves. Andrew is gone again but this time there are no judgements or recriminations, they have been replaced with compassion and sympathy, it’s suddenly acceptable to have an unmanageable son, it is as though her past transgressions have been erased from their memories and it is completely understandable that she may be having difficulty with her wayward child in the face of her grief. Their view of Andrew has also transformed, he is suddenly an angel, his copybook unblotted, and they have no ability to recall that he ever placed a foot wrong prior to the death of his father. 

Her every action is interpreted differently, her immaculate garden was once viewed with envy or was considered a marker that she clearly did not have anything truly productive to do with her time but now it is seen as an appropriate distraction, an activity that she can utilise to distract herself from her loss. It’s not clear to her just how much immunity the grief card grants you but she doubts that it covers everything that she has done since Rex died. She doesn’t want absolution, her actions with George do not deserve forgiveness, such a monumental error in judgement is something that she just has to learn to live with. At the other end of the spectrum lie her actions with Lynette and she doesn’t want these to be trivialised, they are not a by-product of grief, they should not be explained away by impaired judgement. 

Her life has changed and she may not be happy but things could be a lot worse. She has regained respectability, she has Lynette and she has reached the point were it is appropriate for her to entertain again. As she surveys the empire that she has built around her dining room table she realises that although things may not be perfect, the current level of imperfection is one that she can definitely accept but it is a fragile balance that is destroyed when the dinner party chatter is overwhelmed by the caterwauling coming from the street. This is definitely going to be an occasion that her guests will remember but right at this second she is not all that concerned about how they will view the spectacle, she is too busy praying that Lynette isn’t home to witness George attempt to serenade her. 

She wishes she had more time to be impressed with the way she manages to jump over the flower bed in her dress and heals but there is a David Soul song polluting the air that demands her attention. George is crooning like he has been immunised with a gramophone needle but comes to an abrupt stop as she approaches, unfortunately this is only a temporary reprieve. She is not prepared to debate the issue with him, she just wants him to disappear, preferably forever, and embarks on a mission to make her message clear. The gun feels like an extension of her, she cocks it in a fluid motion, as though it is a part of her limb. The surge of power she feels as she fires is an intense aphrodisiac and as George flees into the night she wishes that there wasn’t a room full of people that she needed to attend to. She manages to complete the dinner party playing little heed to whether or not her guests notice anything unusual about her behaviour, nothing that she does from here on in is going to matter, it would probably take dancing naked on the tabletop to overshadow the pot-shot that she took at George. Thankfully the guests leave early, eager to disseminate their fresh piece of quality gossip. She maintains her focus long enough to clean up, her skills in this area do not falter and when she has finished it would take a forensic investigator to establish that there has been anyone other than her in the house tonight. 

At this point she deviates from her routine, she does not remove her dress, nor does she move to the bathroom to strip the make-up from her face. She retires to her bed and inhales the aroma of gunpowder that lingers in the air before making the phone call. She doesn’t debate which number to call, doesn’t doubt that the line will be answered. The voice that greets her is tired, “I’m sorry honey, things are a mess here, I promise to be home as soon as I can.”

“I was kind of hoping that you’d want to talk to me for a little while.”

“How did you know I’d be here?”

“Your car isn’t back.”

“There are laws against you monitoring someone’s movements like that.”

“It’s only a crime if you don’t want me to notice and we both know that you do.”

“What has gotten into you?”

“You’ll find out soon enough, the whole street will be talking about it. Are you alone there?”

“You can’t just expect me to leave it at that, I have to know now.”

“It’s not as important as other things that I want to talk are but that all really depends on whether or not you are alone.”

“Everyone else has gone home, I don’t know if they don’t care as much as I do or if I am just a lot worse at this than I used to be. Why do you want to know anyway?”

Bree’s words come out in a lazy drawl, “What are you wearing?”

“You can not be serious.”

“Try me.”

“Bree I have had a very long day and work is hell and I’m not really in the mood to mess around.”

“I very much want to mess around but you are not here so this is as close as I am likely to get.”

“Have you been drinking?” there is a definite note of concern in Lynette’s voice.

“I have had a few glasses of wine, no more than is acceptable for the hostess of a dinner party though.”

“Why do I get the feeling that this was one hell of a dinner party?”

“It didn’t exactly go as planned.”

“Did the soufflé not rise? Did someone not show up and your seating pattern was uneven?”

“George showed up on the street attempting to declare his undying love for me via broadcasting it with a PA system so I shot out his speaker. Now can we move on from there and get to the part where I tell you that I am lying on my bed in a tight red dress and that I am dying for you to tell me to put my free hand between my legs?”

“Jesus Bree.”

“Baby, we haven’t even started yet.”

“What’s your hair look like?”

“That’s want you want to ask me?”

“I need to know how hot you look and how much of an idiot I am going to feel if I scuttle this.”

“I took my hair out, it’s kind of messy now.” The only response that she hears is an intake of breath. “I thought this was something that you wanted me to trust you enough to do with you.”

“There’s been a fair bit of water under the bridge since then.”

“So you don’t want this anymore?”

“I didn’t say that,” Lynette sounds torn, “I’m just a little worried that this is out of character for you.”

“So you’re the only one who gets to be the aggressor?”

“You can be as aggressive as you like, I’m not complaining, it’s just that this is a long way away from you being mortified that I had even suggested the idea of phone sex.”

“Well as you said, lots of water under the bridge since then. Dead husband, murder suspect, having sex with you against a wall, it all kind of changes a person.”

“I just wish I knew what the right thing to do was.”

“Are you worried that you won’t know what to say, cause you sort of led me to believe that you were an expert at this.”

“I very much want to do this, the idea of you lying there is so tempting but I don’t want to do anything to mess things up.”

“This won’t.”

“Are you sure? Cause everything we do lately just seems to go wrong.”

“You’re really worried about me being angry in the morning aren’t you?”

“I want to do the right thing by you, by us.”

“I am not going to accuse you of taking advantage of me.”

“I love you.”

“Then do this with me.”

“Tomorrow morning I want to be able to say that I love you and that not be something that I am sad about because we are no longer talking.”

The words aren’t exactly ice water but she is able to see Lynette’s point, “You’re worried that things aren’t stable enough yet.”

The answer takes a while in coming as though Lynette is weighing up her options and in the end it is surprisingly short, “Yeah.”

“I wish you were here so that you could see how much I want this. Maybe I should tell you how wet I am just from talking to you.”

“Bree don’t. I don’t need to think that you look any hotter than I already do.”

“That’s obviously not hot enough to overcome your reservations though is it?”

“You have no idea just how much of a struggle this is for me.”

“I know that you could solve that dilemma by telling me to take my dress off.”

“Bree I am going to hang up now, if you still want this tomorrow then I will see what we can do.”

“If I have to wait that long I’d rather see you in person, I want you to see just how cranky I am that you made me take care of things myself, you know I don’t like to do that.”

“That’s enough, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

After the click registers she glares at the phone as if it has become her enemy. She attempts to take matters into her own hands but the effort is not entirely successful. She is aroused and her body responds quickly to her ministrations, her fingers sliding through the wetness with ease and while nothing about the experience is actually unpleasant she isn’t able to complete her task. She halts her hand as her breathing starts to quicken and each time her body comes close to climax she stills her movements. She would like to pretend that it is about prolonging the moment but it’s nothing as functional as that, despite what her body clearly wants, her mind will not let her fall over that precipice if there is not another person involved. She doesn’t want Lynette to be right, she wants to be ready for this so she tells herself that she wouldn’t stop if Lynette was still on the phone but she is not sure that’s true. She wipes her fingers against the sheets, makes a mental note to wash them in the morning and stares at the ceiling while the minor quakes, that she was unable to let develop further, subside. 

Lynette doesn’t call and she doesn’t see her again until the poker game. She had hoped that Lynette would stay longer but it would seem that work is not going well for her at the moment and Bree wonders just how bad a person it makes her that she hopes that the work really is crippling and that Lynette isn’t just avoiding her. She manages to keep the others occupied so that she can see Lynette out without an audience.

“I wish I didn’t have to go,” the statement is sincere and suddenly Lynette’s work problems seem a whole lot more serious.”

“Are things bad at work?”

“They’ve been better,” the reply comes with a nonchalant shrug but the look in the blonde’s eyes suggests that things are worse than she is willing to admit. 

“When I said that your work was cutting into our social life you know I that I was talking about us don’t you?”

“Of course,” the smile is small but definite and Lynette’s voice is barely above a whisper, “I had some major plans for what I was going to do to you but we’ll have to put them on hold.”

She can barely swallow so she doesn’t know how she manages to speak, “If work is going to be an issue, I would be willing to raise you kids.” She makes the offer in jest but the look on Lynette’s face suggests that this is something that she should never joke about.

“In a different world you would be,” and with that statement she leaves Bree to face the rest of their friends. 

She opens the door a few hours later to find Lynette standing but there is no sense of deja vu. Lynette is wearing the same outfit but it is clear that things are different to the last time they stood in this position. Everything about Lynette at this moment screams lust and energy seems to arc from her body as she leans in to whisper in Bree’s ear, “You had better let me in. You don’t want the neighbours to see what we are about to do.”

Bree has some reservations about letting her through the door but apparently these are drowned out by the part of her that is responding to Lynnette’s hand as it creeps its way up her thigh and she pulls Lynette inside. She hasn’t even shut the door and yet Lynette is moulded firmly along her back, grinding against her while hands slip under her clothing and teeth nip at her ear lobe. She tries to turn but Lynette holds her firm, using their combined body weight to close the door. Heat floods through her body as fingers too impatient to remove her bra push it up in order to be able to grab at her nipples.

She wants to tell Lynette to slow down, to let her know that it frightens her that they can’t control themselves enough to get beyond the front door but somehow her larynx transforms her words and all that comes out is a moan of encouragement. In response Lynette spins her around and plunders her mouth. Talking takes a back seat as she employs her tongue in a battle with Lynette’s. Eventually her lips are released but she continues to suppress her urge to engage in conversation as Lynette blazes a trail of wet kisses across her neck.

“I am so pleased I was forced to go into work tonight.”

“If this is the effect that it has on you I could be in support of you going in to work most nights.”

Lynette lets out a short laugh that is little more than an explosion of air, “It’s not usually this good, I caught my boss having sex with one of her underlings and I am so looking forward to milking that tomorrow. She’s been keeping me from my life, keeping me from you, payback is going to feel so good.” Her body stiffens and her response is not lost on Lynette, “Did I say something wrong?”

“It is going to sound petty if I say it out loud.”

“You’re thinking that I’m horny because I saw people having sex and you’re angry that this is not just about you. In your mind I’m sure that cheapens what we are doing, it has probably crossed the line to tacky.”

“That didn’t sound as petty as I imagined that it would.”

“But you were ok with having phone sex with me after you had worked yourself up by firing a phallic symbol, that’s one hell of a double standard.”

Lynette does have a point but she is not about to concede it, “That’s not the same.”

“We don’t exist in a bubble. I’m sorry that this isn’t always going to be purely about you, sometimes my life outside of you is going to have an impact but if we are going to do this you have to learn to be happy with the fact that I chose to share this moment with you.”

“I don’t want your consolation prizes.”

“I’m married, consolation prizes are all we are ever going to have. You’re right, I am horny but I came to you. If you don’t want it, you should know that I will go home and get what I need from Tom.” There is a bitterness to Lynette’s words that is more painful than the sting of her hand where it has made contact with Lynette’s cheek.

The sound of the slap seems to echo in the room and Lynette looks at her as if she has no idea who she is dealing with and then leaves without a word.

She realises that on balance slapping someone is probably insignificant when compared with taking a shotgun to them but in reality they aren’t even remotely comparable. Firing the gun had been about domination and control, it was a radical action but it would bring back the world she knew and it was done with a weapon that she respected, this was familiar ground. Hitting Lynette had nothing to do with control, even though her red palm bears witness to her act it is still hard to believe that it happened. Lynette is the last person that she would ever want to harm. She has made so many mistakes in her attempts to prevent Lynette from getting hurt but the biggest mistake may well have been allowing her back into her life because apparently the only monster hiding under the bed is the one draped in cashmere that claims to love her. She really is poison, she shouldn’t be allowed to touch anything, least of all the things that she loves. Maybe George is more that just a dangerous erotomaniac, maybe God sent him to stop her.

There is refuge to be found in her regained respectability and so she hides in plain sight, going about her life as if it isn’t in ruins. Her masquerade leads her to the hospital and an opportunity see Dr Goldfine outside of the room in which she pretends to bare her soul but it would be improper to take advantage of such a situation. The changed atmosphere does loosen her tongue a little because telling him that she has been seeing friends is probably as close as she will ever come to admitting to the nature of her relationship with Lynette. As he talks with blind optimism about the good in people she wonders if she should find a therapist a little less like Pollyanna but perhaps it is helpful for her to know that life doesn’t manage to destroy everyone’s faith in humanity. His faith is misplaced though and as he describes his attacker she realises that this is what she wrought, that she is damned and that her Midas touch will bring destruction to all. 

The phone call to the police is easy to make, in a way it’s her own sins that she is confessing to. Ignoring the phone call from George is a little harder. She is certain that she did the right thing in reporting him but justice isn’t always swift and while there is a sense of relief that this may all soon be over there is also the overwhelming fear that soon could be just a little bit too long. He is dangerous, she knew before she ever had any real evidence and he has nothing to lose now, nothing to stop him coming for her and what’s hers. She doesn’t know what picking up the phone will achieve, it’s not possible that George is so misguided that he would be placated by hollow words delivered into empty space but there is nothing else that she can do. When he flees, she fears the worst, but she will not cower at home waiting for retribution, she will continue with her life, such as it is, until the situation is resolved.

Receiving the note is such a mixed blessing, he is no longer a disembodied menace lurking in the ether, she knows where he is and with that knowledge her power returns but she is not sure how to wield it. She’s not confused about the legality or the morality of the issue, only about whether the police are going to be capable of protecting everything that she loves. It does not escape her attention that it would be much simpler if George really did die, she doesn’t doubt that he has taken pills but can’t be sure that he would be so completely convinced about his rescue fantasy that he’d have taken a lethal dose. The decision to call the police is one that she is dubious about but she feels that she has taken things this far and it is time to see them through to their natural conclusion. All of that changes when she is informed of George’s role in Rex’s death, it had never occurred to her that he could have done such a thing, it hurts to realise that in a way Rex was right, she was unknowingly responsible for his death. The issue of informing the police becomes moot, there is no court that will bring justice, no punishment that is fitting, he has given himself a death sentence and she will not pardon him.

Her decision is reversed by the smallest of details, it’s not really fate, it’s not as though the interior decorator of the hotel chose to place mirrored panelling in the lift with the knowledge that one day she would be forced to look at her reflection in it and have to re-evaluate her priorities. She can’t stand to look at herself, there is nothing tolerable about the image that she sees and she does the only thing that she can and sets out to destroy it. She wants the mirror to shatter, to obliterate any evidence of her existence but it won’t comply, it only cracks, forcing her to look at a broken reflection, as though it wants her to see a true representation of what she has become. Her legs buckle and as she becomes acquainted with the floor of the carriage she accepts that maybe fate is more powerful and prescient than she ever imagined and that she is destined to save George in order to redeem herself.

His belief that she will come to him is apparently absolute, it doesn’t even allow him to question the length of time that she has taken to get there or what her motives are. He clearly is unable to detect her fear and distain, in a way she envies his distorted perspective on the world. She may have been prepared to walk away from the hotel without notifying a soul of George’s predicament and she may not have called an ambulance but now that she is here, she doesn’t think that she ever would have been capable of leaving him here to die. She is not entirely convinced that she is more deserving of life than him, she led him on, she used him, she fed his obsession, she didn’t realise just how disturbed he really was but that doesn’t mean that she is not at least partly to blame. The possibility of calling for help remains at the forefront of her mind, even when he admits that he killed Rex she still believes that she will perform the role of a Good Samaritan but then he tells her that he thought she wanted Rex dead and she feels a shutter close around her heart. She feels nothing as she lies to him and there is only emptiness as she walks away.

There are no regrets, no sorrows to drown but she throws burning liquid down her throat and welcomes it like a long lost friend. The alcohol gives her the excuse she needs to arrive at the Scavo’s door at an uncivilised hour, this is not something that can wait until the morning, she has to stop this before anyone else gets hurt. Tom answers her knocking, his sleep tousled appearance in no way hiding his anger but his ire seems to melt as he looks at her, “You need to see Lynette?” She had planned on giving a mute nod in return but somehow a strangled sob escapes instead. He places a comforting hand on her shoulder and whispers, “I’ll get her for you.”

Lynette emerges and seems to be attempting to quietly stomp down the stairs, as though she wants to make it clear that she is angry but fears waking the children. The blonde pauses as she catches sight of Bree, a look of appreciation transforming her features, “You’re a goddess.”

Bree is caught off guard, the words could not be anymore inappropriate, “No I’m not, I’m anything but.”

Lynette is insistent, “You are to me.” She wants to contradict her but suddenly Lynette is before her, she didn’t see her move and is suspicious that Lynette may have just made the ground between them disappear.

“I thought you’d be angry.”

“Because you tried to smack me around?” She nods in reply, “I am but then you show up here looking like a broken version of some renaissance masterpiece and I’m willing to put my anger aside for tonight.”

“You shouldn’t have to do that, I don’t deserve to be comforted.”

“I’m not planning to comfort you but I am going to take advantage of your gorgeous easy access dress,” and to confirm her point she pushes her hand under the material to cup Bree’s breast.

She doesn’t bother to tell Lynette to stop, doesn’t care that Tom is just upstairs and could catch them, they probably should be caught, the whole world should know what their perversion has led to. In the spirit of full disclosure she decides to inform Lynette that what they have been doing has come at a hefty price, “I am no longer a murder suspect.”

“That’s great,” Lynette replies absently as she sweeps aside the material covering Bree’s thigh to give her new pastures to explore.

“The police informed me that George killed him.” Her disclosure complete she goes to kiss Lynette only to find that Lynette has halted her movements and is staring at her with disbelieving eyes.

“Why didn’t you say that in the first place?” She removes her hands from Bree and looks at them as though they are unclean, “I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have been groping you if I’d known, you should have told me.” 

“I would have let you know if I wanted you to stop.”

Lynette seems more concerned by this than she was by her actions and although her reply is hesitant there is no doubt that it is accusatory, “This was about having an excuse to be mad at me wasn’t it?”

“I don’t think so.”

The frown on Lynette’s face deepens, “Let me make this easy for you, do you want to be with me?”

“Always,” she breathes.

“Come here,” Lynette grabs her hand and leads her to the couch. She finds herself positioned on top of Lynette, bodies melding in the confined space, Lynette’s breath moving her hair, the situation is chaste yet achingly intimate. “Are you going to stay the night?”

“I want to.”

“Good,” she runs her hand through Bree’s hair.

“But we shouldn’t do anything.”

“I know.”

“And I don’t think I’ll be ready to do anything for a while.”

“I know that too.”

“And that’s okay with you.”

“Not really but I understand it. Don’t worry,” she tilts Bree’s head up so that their eyes meet, “I’m not mad at you but I am really pissed at myself for not taking advantage of some recent situations.”

Bree feels her features attempt to form a smile but she’s not sure they achieve it, “I’m not trying to push you away.”

“I’m not going to let you. I did some things to you that I know rocked your world,” her delivery is over the top but Bree is sure that they both know that behind the deliberately enhanced arrogance there is nothing but truth, “and there is no way that I am going to let you get away with not reciprocating.”

“What if I don’t manage to rock your world?”

Lynette grins at her, “You didn’t enjoy saying that phrase did you?”

She shakes her head, “I thought I kept my displeasure well hidden.”

“You were a model of control and you don’t need to worry, you will rock my world, you already do. This isn’t just about sex.”

“No but it’s still important.”

“I could live without it just so long as you are still mine.”

“But you would still have Tom for sex,” she hates the edge that creeps into her voice.

“If I was going to feel sorry for anyone in that scenario, it would be Tom.”

“I just don’t know that things should be this hard, maybe this isn’t meant to be.”

“Baby, love isn’t just about getting past the obstacles that stop people getting together, it’s about staying together despite many more obstacles and this is worth anything life throws at us.” 

She wonders if Lynette would feel this way if she knew the truth. At this moment, in presence of Lynette, she can almost believe that this is special and pure instead of forever tainted. There is blood on both their hands. She is never going to be able to look at Lynette without thinking that people have died because of their attraction to one another. She knows that they are not directly responsible but that doesn’t make them innocent and even now, though she knows the price they have paid, she can’t bring herself to leave. She came here to end this, to force Lynette to see that behind the white dress and the perfect public images lies a demon but that won’t change anything that has happened or the fact that Lynette carries her share of guilt. This thing will end and it is going to be even more brutal than she ever imagined but until then she will cling to what they have, if she is going to be damned for this, she might as well try to enjoy it and they might as well be damned together.


End file.
